


Not Metal

by hato



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:29:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hato/pseuds/hato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan knows this isn't Metal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Metal

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Metalocalypse belongs primarily to Brendan Small and Adult Swim. I'm simply borrowing them for my own selfish whims.

Nathan knows this isn’t Metal.

 

He knows, okay, just... Okay? So, he knows and there’s no point in saying anything because he knows and he doesn’t care and anyone who wants to call him out on it can go fuck themselves because he knows this isn’t Metal but he’s going to keep doing it no matter what. Alright? Right.

 

What they were doing, like, ten minutes ago? That was totally fucking Metal.

 

Oh yeah, completely, absolutely, no doubt about it. If anyone had seen them, hell, they’d get the Most Metal Stuff to Do With Your Dicks Award award or, you know, some kind of award for people who are really awesome at putting their cocks in people and… stuff.

 

Watching Toki squirm, buck and thrust back onto his dick while he grips bruises onto those pale, thin hips gets him off almost as much as actually pounding deep into that tight ass. All sweat and rippling back muscles- fucking ridiculous muscles, seriously man- writhing around under him. Toki’s calloused hand fisted in the sheets, the other hidden under his body and Nathan knows it’s jerking him off in hard, quick pulls. Long hair sticking everywhere, itchy and annoying, but Toki looks unbelievably hot when he turns his head to growl back at him and there’s that streak of light brown plastered across his red cheeks and his ‘staches are smeared under his chin and there’s always that one strand that forms a wave down his spine... Mind blowingly hot. Fuck, like… just fuck, man.

 

And the noises. Like porn in hi-def. Wet, dirty, squelching sounds coming from different orifices. Toki’s bedsprings groaning, the headboard slamming against the wall and shaking that stupid toy robot off onto the floor. And Toki is godawful loud! Screaming and swearing, god, the kid can out-curse Murderface when properly motivated and is twice as loud, the little shit. The Gearheads won’t bother them in Toki’s bedroom, but if Ofdensen happens to be passing by at this unholy hour of ten in the morning, then he’ll definitely poke his big nosey nose in the door and give them some bullshit lecture about fucking bandmates and how it’s not good for morale or offends the stick up his ass or blah blah blah whatever and then they’ll have to start fucking in Nathan’s soundproofed room which is not going to happen because Toki is completely useless after he blows his load and Nathan draws the line at actually sleeping with each other like a slumber party or something and while he doesn’t mind hauling Toki back to his own bedroom, it’s just a fucking pain in the ass to dress a dude who’s passed out and Nathan isn’t carrying a naked dude around the house. No way.

 

But, anyway, all that stuff is Metal. The fucking and the being all sweaty and the heavy breathing and the smells of body and ass and latex and lube and the bruises and aches… All that’s Metal. He’s certain.

 

But this, this… is Not Metal.

 

Shut the fuck up! He knows!

 

It’s Not Metal to lie here with Toki sleeping on his shoulder, doing that stupid, adorable-no it’s definitely just stupid!- little breathy/snore/mumble thing Toki does when’s he’s just cummed his brains out.  To enjoy the small, warm puffs of air against his neck.  Snuggling closer under the childish printed sheets as Toki falls asleep and becomes a solid weight of cooling skin and useless limbs.

 

Totally Not Metal to stroke his hand through the long, damp hair and pet the back of Toki’s head like a housecat. Or to run his finger over the shell of Toki’s ear, down his neck- pulse still faster than normal and thumping under the thin skin- and over the curve of his fucking ridiculously sculpted shoulder.

 

Not at all Metal to gently finger the slightly raised scars on Toki’s back and think to himself, _Brutal_ , but not in the awesome cool way that he usually thinks something is Brutal, but in a way that makes him kinda sick to his stomach, all pukey and confused, like the morning after one of Skwisgaar and Pickles’ Drunken Scrabble Nights.

 

Completely lame of him to do this every time they’re together. A few seconds here, quarter of an hour there. Stolen moments of quiet affection and concern before rolling out of bed and zipping up and tiptoeing away.

 

This is so Not Metal.

 

It is Not Brutal.

 

It is Not Dark.

 

But he keeps doing it anyway.

 

And he’ll keep on doing it as long as Toki doesn’t fuck it up by being mentally coherent or mentioning it out loud in any way,  because he will fucking deny, deny, deny to any douchebag who wants to accuse him of, you know, caring and shit.

 

Because he doesn’t.

 

So fuck off.

 

**end**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who reads, kudos and reviews!!!


End file.
